He shook his head. “I’m not the one who had to go through that. Not all the pain, in my body, and not all the emotional stuff either. And I was never the one who was stuck havin’ to make the decision, beforehand. You’ve been through plenty. Last thing I want is to drag you back into it when you finally seem happy.”
“Well, too bad. It was your experience as much as it was mine. Just because it was my body doesn’t mean you don’t get to have feelings about it.”
A giant, silent sigh seemed to say, That’s your opinion.
She paused, eyeing the counter. The bottle of wine he’d bought her when he’d picked up the pregnancy test was still there beside the toaster, untouched. She crossed the room and dug through the junk drawer for the opener. She took two of Flynn’s hideous Christmas-patterned wine glasses from the cupboard and filled each near to the brim.
His brows rose when she turned, a dose in each hand. She delivered his and took her seat on the table once more.
“I don’t drink,” he said.
“You’re not an alcoholic, though. Just trust me. It might knock some of your feelings loose. Like an emotional laxative for constipated tough guys.” She sipped her own wine, enjoying the tight smirk that quirked his lips.
“Booze turns me into an asshole.”
“You’re already being an asshole. Double down. Let it all out.”
He shook his head, but ultimately put the glass to his lips. A deep swallow screwed his face up in a wince. “Jesus. Why d’you let me pick out wine?”
She took another taste, considering. “This is one of your better selections.”
“Tastes like cherry rubbing alcohol.”
“You’re just out of practice. Now choke it down and spill your guts.”
She realized in that instant that she was Flynn, tonight. He wasn’t necessarily being Laurel, but she was the take-no-bullshit partner, the strong one bullying the lost one into action. It felt nice. She felt…taller.
He suffered through another gulp then set the glass on the floor beside him. He met her gaze. “I dunno what to say.”
“Just tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me why you pushed me away, when I tried to start something.”
“Like I said, I’m not ready.”
“Not ready because…?”
“Because…fuck. Because I’m still fuckin’ sad, okay?”
“About the miscarriage?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She’d had no clue, in fact. He’d so thoroughly put her feelings first these past couple weeks, she’d come to assume he was doing fine with it all. “I wish I’d known.”
“Why? So you could feel even shittier than you already were?” The exhaustion in his voice left the sarcasm toothless.
“Ever since I found out I was pregnant, it’s felt like… Like you don’t think you get to have any opinions about any of it. Which I never agreed with.”
He took a deep breath, attention on the hands flexing restlessly between his knees. “I know.”
“But you clearly do have opinions, and you obviously need to vent them. So tell me about them. You feel sad about the miscarriage. How come?”
He finally met her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?”
She supposed that, yes, it was. “You were hoping I’d keep it?”
He didn’t reply immediately, looking hesitant, lost. “Maybe. Maybe I was.”
Laurel moved, settling at his side with her glass. Sometimes it was easier to talk about heavy things when eye contact was off the table.
She told the far wall, “You were always allowed to want that.” A fresh chill settled over her, nothing to do with the cold floor beneath her butt. If I’d decided to end it, would you have resented me? Left me over it, in time? “I wish you’d told me. But I know why you didn’t.”
“Thing is, nothin’ about having a kid right now made any sense. It didn’t make sense for you, job-wise. It didn’t make sense for us, together, not this soon.”
“No.”
“It didn’t even make sense for me,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been sittin’ around twiddlin’ my thumbs, wishin’ I was a father. Not at all. I see people around town with strollers lookin’ like they haven’t slept in a year and I think, ‘Thank fuck that’s not me, yet.’ And now that it’s gone, it’s not like I want us to try and get you pregnant all over again.”
“But…?”
He shrugged, the black of his sweater rising and slumping in her periphery. “My head was with you, with whatever you decided. But some other part of me…I dunno. It charged me up, imagining it. Or just knowin’ about it, knowin’ that was going on inside your body. I won’t lie, it felt really fucking profound.”
“I wish I’d known.”
“It might’ve changed what you decided. And I didn’t want that, not when it was just some feeling.”
“Feelings are important. More important than logic, sometimes. And it kind of scares me that I didn’t know how you felt. Like, if I’d decided to end it, what would you have thought of me? It’s my body but it’s your life as much as mine that would’ve been turned upside-down.”
“It was always your decision. The stakes were ten times higher for you.”
At a loss, she took a sip of wine and Flynn did the same.
“You know what I think bothers me the most?” he asked at length, setting his glass between his feet.